The Surrey Intrusion
by bad2wolf2mcgee
Summary: Heather's been living with Sherlock and John for a while now and other than that whole kidnapping fiasco she's managed to keep out of trouble. But Sherlock has a new case, a man's dropped dead in front of several witnesses, including his least favourite housemate. John however is more interested Heather's mystery man... Sequal to 'The Tom Cat's Collar'. NOT Sherlock /OC or John /OC
1. Chapter 1

**Firstly I want to say hello to any new readers, yes this is an OC story but don't judge it for that. There was a previous story called 'The Tom Cat's Collar' which introduces this OC, Heather. But all you really need to know is that she works at the British Library, she lives in 221C (downstairs from Sherlock and next to Mrs Hudson) and she was not created simply to fall in love with Sherlock and throw John out of the picture. Also I give update times ect. on Tumblr (currently my url is 'aster-planetes' but if that doesn't work then I may have changed it so just review or message me and I'll send you the new one)**

**And to you old reader who have come back for more (including Rachel who will be highly upset if she doesn't get a little mention so hello, I know you're there) Thank you for returning to Heather! I know I've been away a while. A whole summer in fact, but this story refused to write itself at decent times in the day so it progressed very slowly. However, hopefully the wait will have been worth it. I've taken your advice and the main criticism I wanted to address was chapter length so I've tried to make them (generally) a little longer for you. However some really do work as short snippits. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the story :)**

**Green Tea**

"What is this?" Sherlock called, he strode out of the kitchen and held up the green box he had found. John looked up from his blog and then continued writing out their latest case in slow, stammered taps.

"It's peppermint tea."

"Yes I can see that but neither of us drink peppermint tea."

"No but Heather does on occasion."

"Bah!"

Sherlock threw the box onto the side and then himself down into his chair, his arms crossed and his feet tapping angrily. "She lives downstairs, why have we got her tea up here, and on that matter why is she up here all the time?"

"Maybe I like the company of a more responsive mind."

"Get a dog."

"You're not seriously comparing Heather to a dog."

"I don't see why not, she has many of the qualities."

"Warm, loveable, loyal and brave you mean."

"I believe he was actually using a rather pompous kind of language to call me a bitch." Heather stated from the sofa where she had been sat throughout the entire conversation with a copy of The Lord of the Rings on her lap and a pair of black rimmed glasses on the top of her head like an Alice-band.

"Ignore him." John commented.

"Always do." She replied.

Sherlock huffed and sprung out of his chair, grabbing his scarf from the mantelpiece and tying it quickly around his neck.

"Where are you going now?" John asked.

"St. Bart's morgue."

Neither John nor Heather got a word out as he strode for the door, coat in hand. John sighed and shut his lap-top, he glanced over at Heather, her head was still turned to face the door.

"It's not you."

"Yes it is. Let's not pretend, you're his friend, I'm the annoying housemate who spends too much time in his living room. Which is kind of true really." John frowned, he knew Heather had been spending more time in their flat than her own but he understood. He knew what it was like leaving a place where you were always in the company of your friends and then suddenly being thrown into a flat where you were totally alone. Besides he really did enjoy her company, unlike Sherlock she actually recognised the rules of board games and he'd gladly noticed that when she was bored she tended to bake and supply them with cakes and biscuits (which Sherlock gladly tucked into with little thanks). On the other hand in some ways it was like living with two of them, she also had a habit of talking to the tv as though it was another person and once she was engrossed in a book he had to repeat himself at least three times to gain her attention.

"John? John? Hello, anybody home?" John started and blinked rapidly.

"Sorry, just, dozed off there for a second" Heather smiled awkwardly and gathered her things.

"I'm going to head back to the office." She told him.

"But it's eight o'clock, what are you going to do this late?"

Heather shrugged and pulled on her coat, taking the glasses off her head and shaking out her dark red hair.

"I've got some books coming in that need paperwork sorted. And a staffing shortage to fill."

"But, Heather…"

"Night John."

He watched her walk out of the room, heard the stairs groan under her shoes and put his head on his hand. Great, alone for the night, again.

**Please think of me, sitting all alone in this cold Uni bedroom, listening to drunk students stumble by beneath my window and review. I do believe it's the only thing keeping me sane.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again every one! And thank you so much for your follows and reviews, they mean a lot to me and definitely made me smile throughout the last two days.**

_**GraceSong: Hello! I'm glad to hear you missed Heather and WOW! A WIAN fan, really? Well that's fantastic! That story has taken up so much of my life, it means so much to me, so hearing that you're a fan is possibly the best news I could get :D Heather's got a lot to deal with this time around but it's going to be a mix of totally new experiences and trying to rework situations she's been dealing with her whole life so I hope you like the way I've tackled that. I'll admit that the "Bah" comment was a call back to my eldest brother who uses the phrase all the time when he's passing over something he finds irrelevant so I have him to thank for that. Hope you like the chapter and thanks for the review :) **_

_**LavishDish: Thank you so much for reviewing. I'm guilty of not commenting sometimes too. Either you haven't got anything to say or you just can't be arsed, I know how it goes don't worry. I can't be frustrated when I know I do it as much as the next person. It just makes the fact you did review even more special to me :)The students who pass my flat/halls can be pretty roudy, and as someone who doesn't drink all that much, especially at university, it can get pretty tiresome. (wow, that makes me sound like a really boring student doesn't it, oh well. I totally agree with you, I love romance and some of it is so beautifully written but sometimes it does get frustrating that either you get a story with John/Sherlock or a story with Sherlock/Irene or a story with Sherlock/OC and pretty much none that just stick to how the show does it. I like to throw in the odd hint of romance whether it's a comment from John to Heather (or vice versa), a meaningful stare between Heather and Sherlock, or an almost blatant conversation between Sherlock and John but I'd never go further than that with the main character mingling. It's too interesting as it is. I'll admit that there is some…not quite romance but almost, coming up but rest assured John, Sherlock and Heather are strictly prohibited from falling for each other. As for when the stories are set, I would say after the pool confrontation but before Sherlock meets Irene. Sort of in the intermediate stage when he's becoming more and more famous thanks to John's blog. I really hope you keep enjoying the story and let me know if you have any more questions or anything :D xx**_

_**bored411: Glag to know you liked 'The Tom Cat's Collar' and I really hope you like this sequal, It's all written out so don't worry it will all go up in due time. Thanks for your review, it really does mean a lot to me. :)**_

**You'll find a few bits of this story will be split into different perspectives on the same moment, I've tried to group them together into chapters so I hope this comes across. In this chapter we get to meet one new character who I hope you all like :)**

**An Interrupted Morning**

"Mam… mam. What do I do?"

"Shake her."

"I don't think she'd like that, I don't want to get fired."

"Well what do you suggest?"

"Smelling salts?"

"She's asleep, not fainted."

"Actually she's neither." Heather mumbled, lifting her head from her desk and looking up at the two men standing in her office. One was leaning on the filing cabinet, hands in his pockets, one of which had the tongue of a tie flapping from the opening. The other was standing as though he'd swallowed a rake, his eyes wide behind large prescription glasses and his shirt buttoned up right to the top underneath an ill-fitting suit. He looked young, probably his dad's then, that would explain the 80's cut. "What's going on?"

"I uh…I am Martin Jameson, I have a Masters in Literature focussing on works written between 1700 and 1800."

Heather rubbed her skin beneath her eyes to wipe away the make-up that had run during the night.

"Good for you. Still doesn't explain what you're doing in my office."

"I'm your new assistant."

"Fantastic but…what?"

"Your assistant mam."

Heather stared at him for a moment and then looked down at the pile of papers in the top right corner of her desk beneath the little plastic figurine of Fox Mulder that she had been using as a paperweight. From the very bottom of the pile she produced the battered sheet of paper with Martin Jameson written at the top.

"I thought you were due in at 1:30 for a lunch meeting."

Jameson gave her a nervous smile and nodded to the clock by the wall.

"It's 2:00 mam."

She looked up at the old grandmother clock in the corner. It had once belonged to her grandparents on her mother's side and had a tendency to not chime when it felt like it, explaining her prolonged sleep. Heather groaned and opened the draw on her right, pulling out a hairband to tie her mop up in a ponytail.

"Right, give me five minutes to clean up and I'm all yours." She rolled the chair back and got up, rounding the desk and coming to a stand-still in front of Jameson. He was still rooted to the spot and she frowned awkwardly and looked him up and down. Wow, just wow, could he be more of a spokesman for the archetypal English geek.

"Is something wrong?" he asked nervously.

Heather opened her mouth but reconsidered and shook her head before walking past him and grabbing a duffle bag from the coat-stand by the door. The man who had entered the room with Jameson followed her out of the office.

"Isn't he just something else?" Sam Elliot grinned at her, pulled out a cigarette case and put one of the rolls between his lips. Heather automatically reached up and took it from him, placing it back in his pocket.

"Against the law."

"And what? You're shocked and appalled?" Sam was one of her own finds, she'd had to pull many a string to get him a job here and she knew that he was grateful but sometimes she did make the mistake of expecting a little too much good from him. "How much do you think it would take from him to make a go at me? Glue in his spot cream? Ink on his glasses? I know, I could rearrange his lunchbox."

"Sam." She sighed exasperated and pushed open the door of the ladies bathroom.

"Don't be such a kill joy. I'm only going to have a little fun." He told her, walking straight in after her and pushing himself up onto the counter between the sinks. "He's asking for it with the tufty hair and the back so straight it's like someone shoved a snooker cue up his…"

"Sam! Leave him alone." Heather yelled from inside a stall as she pulled on a new pair of trousers, "He's a kid and a talented one at that. I'll have a chat, see if I can get him to relax a bit, but you keep your pranks to the Italian lit department."

"Why should I bother with those tossers?"

"Because Sophie Evans is fighting for the corner of Shakespeare being Italian again."

"Wanker."

Heather opened the stall and tossed him the bag, unbuttoning her shirt and throwing it to him.

"You think everyone's a wanker. Hand me the red one." He dug around and chucked back a red shirt. As the door opened and an older woman walked two paces inside. She stopped at the sight of Sam reclining against the mirror and Heather standing on the tiled floor in her bra and trousers.

"What?" Sam asked, lighting up his cigarette. The woman turned and left the bathroom and

Sam smiled at Heather, she didn't look impressed, "What?" he repeated.

"What if she really needed to go?"

"Well if she pisses herself then I'm not cleaning it up."

"You're disgusting."

"And yet you still hang around with me." He blew smoke into the air and handed her a toothbrush. He was quiet for a few moments as she loaded the brush with mint toothpaste and then put it in her mouth. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?"

She eyed him up as she brushed. "You moved, you were fine for weeks and then bam." He sighed and took another drag before leaning forward and staring at her. She felt rather uncomfortable. "Something changed. You look like hell," She narrowed her eyes at him and he raised his hands, "you're constantly tired out and no offence pet but you're no fun anymore."

Heather spat out the toothpaste and washed her mouth out.

"I'm fun! I'm loads of fun!" She put the brush away and took out her makeup bag.

"Really? When was the last time you went out?" She thought about the question for a moment and shrugged.

"I like staying in." She told him, applying some mascara. He snorted and stubbed out the cigarette in the sink. "That's a filthy habit you know."

"Offering to give me a scrub down?"

"I'd rather translate the Bible into Klingon."

"Ten points for creativity."

He handed her the bag and she put her make-up back inside, stepping into her shoes and heading for the door. "I'll find out you know." He told her, "I still have plenty of contacts." She sighed and shrugged walking quickly back to her office. Jameson hadn't moved a muscle, he was still standing, straight as a ruler, facing her desk.

"At ease." She joked. He jumped and stared at the pair of them in the doorway. Sam headed inside and slapped him on the back.

"Go on Nancy, if you're good she might buy you a milkshake."

"My name is Martin." Jameson mumbled. Sam ignored him and chucked Heather her coat.

"Come on," Heather motioned for the boy to follow her, "Ignore the clown in the corner."

"I mean it Pet, I'm going to find out, and then you and I are going to get pissed." Sam called as Heather escorted Jameson out of the room and down the corridor.

**_SH_**

John hadn't seen Sherlock or Heather all night. He'd made himself breakfast this morning and flicked on the news but still nothing. He'd taken a shower and called into the practice to check on when his first appointment was. He'd set up a standing order to Mrs Hudson for rent and explained it to her, which had taken a good half an hour, still nothing. It got to midday and he was on his way out but there was no sign of either of his housemates. Not that he was worried, Sherlock was well known to disappear for a day or so and turn up unexpectedly having solved a case John hadn't even known existed. It was also perfectly plausible that Heather came in last night and went to her own apartment which would have meant she could come and go as she pleased without him noticing.

Still, it was kind of lonely.

The air outside was crisp, cold and there was a hint of a breeze. It looked like rain, then again this was London, it always looked like rain. Unless of course it actually was raining. John sighed and started his walk to the bus stop, when had he become so boring? Considering the clouds in the sky and their chance of rain was possibly the least interesting thing he'd ever had to think about. Maybe it was his company, he could probably do with going out with someone, Sarah? He hadn't really plucked up the courage to ask her on another date, not after… well, what about his old school friends? He could give them a ring. On the other hand most were busy, families, work, lives. All of that had passed him by somewhere along the line.

The bus pulled up and he pressed his oyster card to the reader, heading right to the back and taking a seat by the window. Maybe the war had made him boring, he'd concentrated so hard on his studies and his friends in the forces and he'd never thought about what would happen if he had to leave. He had loads of friends from the army but they were all off serving their country while he was…about to miss his stop.

John leaped forward and pressed the bell. The bus shuddered as the driver slammed on the breaks and John jogged to the front. "Sorry, thanks." He ignored the dirty looks from the passengers who'd been thrown by the sudden stop and hopped out of the bus right in front of the practice. He pursed his lips to the side for a moment and then started for the door, pushing it open and heading straight for the front desk. The receptionist handed him the key to room 4 and looked down at her computer.

"First patient is Crystal Stuart. 8 year old, parents think she's got swine flu." John glanced at the waiting room and saw two very young parents doting over a little girl with a sniffle and a slightly red nose. He looked back at the receptionist with a face that said 'You have got to be kidding me', "I know," she sympathised, "it was meningitis last month."

_**SH**_

Sherlock gazed idly and the ceiling of the Bart's lab. Every body in the lab died of natural causes. Every test he wanted to try out required a chemical that would be restocked this afternoon. All in all he was stuck for something to do and the people who worked there were beginning to trickle in and out. They were used to seeing Sherlock around and no longer questioned it but all were very wary of him, no one spoke to him and he was irritated by the way they were too scared to even ask him to move to get into cupboards he was blocking. So he grabbed his coat and left the room, searching for solitude. The flat would be empty by now, John would be off at work, Heather would be at the office and Mrs Hudson would be in the sandwich shop. But it was still the flat, even if his housemates weren't there he could still hear them in his mind.

Oddly enough he was rather getting used to having the three of them around. John was useful, helpful and generally acceptable as a housemate. Mrs Hudson had a habit of getting in the way but he was still almost fond of her for bringing them supplies and cleaning up every now and then. Heather, well, he didn't dislike her.

Sherlock's phone rang and he picked it up looking down at the ID. Lestrade. Something to do. At last!

**It's a Thursday night and I'm craving chocolate. Properly craving, it's all I can think about. But not only am I trying to save money and loose a little weight but I have choir tomorrow and chocolate is bad for your vocal chords. So instead of chocolate, could I maybe have some reviews? Just a sweet but a little less edible - unless of course I printed them out and then ate the paper, I mean it's not like it would be the first time…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Firstly, my deepest apologies. I meant to upload this two days ago but I've been quite ill so I didn't spend all that much time on the computer. This will not become a habit if I can help it.**

_**BeeGee:**__** Thanks for the review! Action is imminent in fact it begins with this chapter and I'm so pleased you liked Sam, he's worked his way in to being my favourite person to write for so I'm breathing a sigh of relief that people actually want to hear from him :)**_

_**Bored411:**__** You'll definitely be seeing more of Sam, as I said above he's one of my favourite characters to write so I'll be working him in every now and then. But I obviously want to be careful not to throw him about into parts of the narrative that he doesn't belong. He'll be back both at the end of this chapter and in the next one I believe so you won't miss him :) I gave in by the way and went out to buy some chocolate. *shakes head in shame* **_

**Murder For Breakfast**

"Please eat something." Heather groaned as Jameson sat in front of her at the café.

"Is that an order or a personal request?"

"I just don't want to be sitting here stuffing my face while you stare at me." He poured himself a glass of water. Heather sighed and took a bite from her sandwich. "So, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Likes, dislikes, family, friends, pets, embarrassing childhood stories. You know, stuff."

"I like books."

"Never would have guessed." She said blankly. "Come on Jameson. Give me something to work with." He fiddled with his glass of water. "Alright let's see, Shakespeare, like or dislike."

"Generally I'm in favour but certain works are…"

"Short and sharp Jameson."

"Like." He responded.

"Euripides."

"Like."

"Harry Potter." He blushed.

"Like."

"Good, Twilight."

"Dislike."

"Have you read it?"

"No."

"Then how do you know you don't like it?" He looked stumped but she carried on with her questioning, leaving him to mull over the thought. "Shelly."

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not. Like."

"Wordsworth."

"Like."

"I hate Wordsworth." She told him, taking a sip of water and watching his reaction with interest.

"Well I guess he can be…"

"No."

"No?"

"You like Wordsworth, that's why I picked him. No one who specialises in English Literature between the 1700's and 1800's dislikes Wordsworth. I want you to stand up for yourself. You like Wordsworth, I don't. I want you to hold your ground. Why do you like him, what inspires you about him. You have to be passionate about this job or it's not for you." He looked across the table, slightly un-nerved. "Well then, why do you like Wordsworth?"

"The imagery. He writes and I can see history, the history of the ordinary people of the time, not the pompous fools that had all the money and ran the country, the working man."

"I take it you were a fan of the French revolution as well."

"Erm, well…"

"Opinions Jameson." She reminded him.

"I think it was a good idea."

"And I don't."

"Why?"

"Questioning, that's good. The people were angry, I get it. They weren't being treated fairly, they wanted to rise up and change their country for the better but it was a mess. They had no game plan, they went mad, beheaded everyone they could get their hands on. Many of whom didn't deserve it. But to top it all off they had no idea what to do once they had control of the country and therefore it became a terrible and dangerous place. It was a bloodbath and it took hundreds of years to rectify."

"But it was rectified and the people are now happy with a president."

"Really? France used to be one of the great powers of the world. Now it has been demoted, it's prone to protest and riots, it has the same poverty rating as most other European countries and the Euro looks more unstable by the day. I don't see much of a difference between them and say Sweden which still has its monarchy." Heather smiled brightly, "See, we're having a conversation!" He smiled back timidly.

"Help me!"

Heather looked up at the man who had just staggered into the café, "Somebody please, help me!" he grabbed the plastic cloth over one table and collapsed to the floor pulling the table and the food on top of him as the builders who had been sitting there jumped to their feet.

Jameson had frozen stiff and even Heather had taken a moment before jumping across the plate that had rolled into her path and kneeling down at the man's side. He was black, heavily built and sweating like a fat man in a sauna.

"What's wrong?"

"Help me!" he yelled, thrashing on the floor.

"Tell me what happened?"

"Help!"

"Sir, sir can you tell me your name?"

"Jackson Berry." He gritted his teeth and grabbed her hand tightly.

"Ok Jackson, I'm trying to help you but can you tell me what's wrong so I can do that?"

"Rope, I pulled the rope."

"Jackson, what's the matter, what's happened?" He was in tears, small bubbles were appearing in the corner of his mouth and still he muttered like a madman.

"Pulled the rope." He let out a breath through his teeth as he clenched them together, it made an awful gurgling 'shhh' noise as he began fitting. Heather used the hand he'd grabbed and pulled him onto his side, holding his head away from the hard floor. Froth flew from his mouth like a rabid dog then suddenly, he fell still.

Slowly Heather rolled him onto his back and placed fingers at his throat, moving them around just in case.

"He's dead." She murmured. She looked down at the hand he still had, grasped tightly. His fingers were stiff, seized from the fitting. Her own fingers hurt, throbbing in the tight grip but she couldn't bring herself to pull them away. She pushed a few tears back with her other hand and turned to the other people in the café. "Did anyone call 999?"

A hand raised at the back of the room and she nodded. "Then we wait." Heather looked down at the man and gently closed his eyes. "I'm Sorry."

_**SH**_

Lestrade was waiting for Sherlock outside the café. He was pacing, unusual. Sherlock joined him at the door and attempted to peer through the window. "Well?" Lestrade shook his head.

"You're not going in." Sherlock looked down at him, surprised.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That's not an argument." He tried to walk past Lestrade but was blocked by two officers in uniform and sergeant Donovon.

"You heard the inspector. No freaks allowed on this crime scene." Sherlock glared at her and turned back to Lestrade.

"Well if I'm not allowed in then what did you call me for?"

"I never said you're not allowed in at all." Lestrade told him, "But you have to wait."

"For what?" Sherlock sounded affronted at the news.

"For him." Lestrade was looking past his shoulder and he waved into the distance. Sherlock turned and noticed John weaving through the crowd.

"I seem to remember there was a time you complained about John being present," Sherlock pointed out, "And now you refuse to allow me access to a body without him by my side. Your loyalty is touching." John caught the end of the statement and frowned.

"What?"

"It's not access to the body I'm worried about, it's access to the witnesses. In particular the ones who tried to help."

"Did you call me in to tell me riddles inspector because if you did we'll be on our way." Lestrade turned to John.

"She's pretty shaken up, thought it might help if you spoke to her." He turned and waved Sally away, she glared at them but backed off allowing access to the café door. The interior was dull and Sherlock's eyes swept the room taking in the half finished plates of food, the knocked over table and the body on the floor, the bodies on the floor. John stopped in his tracks.

"Heather." He realised. Lestrade turned to them, keeping his voice low.

"She went to help, he's dead but his hand's still clenched around hers."

"No one tried to remove it?"

"Crime scene procedure, there has to be a medical examiner present for us to move the body unless there is unavoidable danger."

"What about the danger to her nerves?" Lestrade lifted his hands defensively and shook his head.

"I know, I was all for letting her go but she's been a bit uncooperative."

"What do you mean?" John asked, his eyes trained on Heather.

"Well, she heard me calling Sherlock and when I explained the procedure to her she refused. Just told me you'd want the body in its original state."

"This is all touching but it doesn't explain why I wasn't allowed in." Sherlock moaned.

"Yes it does." John responded, "You would have walked in told her to get up and stop moping around and then ignored her."

Sherlock ignored him moving further into the room and surveying the scene from a slight distance, turned to look at the door frame, running his hands down it and pulling out his mini magnifier. John turned his attention to the body and the woman sitting at its side. "Heather?" She looked up and smiled slightly.

"I guess I brought home to work with me." She quipped. He looked down at her and she shrugged. "I uh, I can't get him to let go, I'm not quite strong enough. Besides, he could… he could do with a, hand to hold. Not that it'll do him much good." John leant over and carefully prized her hand out of the dead man's grip. She rubbed it tenderly with her other hand.

"You alright?" She smiled, still looking down.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good, I'm fine just," She couldn't tear her eyes away from the body and he could see the struggle in her tense face as she answered him, "I've never seen anyone die before." John looked at her sadly, "I was talking to him, you know, then he was gone. I'm the last person he ever spoke to."

"I'm sure he was grateful to have you there."

"Oh yes I'm sure his main concern while he lay dying slowly and painfully on a café floor was that a perfect stranger was by his side." Sherlock weighed in. John sighed and looked up at him frustrated by his tactless nature. A scuffle outside caught both men's attention the door to the café burst open.

"Let me through you porky git. Heather! Pet?" A man had forced his way into the café, short brown hair, blue eyes and a casually ruffled black suit. His tie was shoved into his pocket and his top two buttons undone, he bypassed both Sherlock and John and moved straight for Heather. "Nancy told me what happened, come on let's get you out of here."

"I'm sorry but, who are you?" John asked aggravated by the rude entrance. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. The man turned to face John, disapproving of his tone.

"This is Sam, Sam Elliot, he works with me." Heather told them, "Sam these are my housemates John Watson and…"

"Sherlock Holmes, am I right?"

"National archaeological museum, Athens." Sherlock stated.

"You knew I was involved by the pen clicking signal, I remember." Sam nodded and smiled as if reliving a fond memory.

"How are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, straight and narrow now, that's me. What about you, last I heard you were solving suicides." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sniffed.

"Clearly working."

"Don't tell me, 'which is more than I can say for you' right? Well we're heading back right now. Come on Pet, I'll get the coats and you can tell me what the bloody hell's going on." He grabbed her coat from the table she'd been sitting at and Heather nodded to John.

"He said his name was Jackson Berry," She told him, "other than that I couldn't get much out of him. Just kept telling me it was a rope." John nodded as Heather threaded her arm through Sam's.

"Come on, I'll find you a nice lost play for you to bury yourself in." he told her. She shook her head.

"I think I might take you up on that offer."

"Scrubbing down?" She hardly reacted to the quip, barely a blush touched her cheeks which was a shame because she was as pale as a sheet.

"Where's the nearest bar?" She asked, "Let's go and get pissed." John raised an eyebrow as she turned and walked out of the café. Sam stayed for a moment a smirk covering his face as he watched her go.

"I bloody love that woman." He stated before marching out after her.

"Archaeological museum?" John asked. Sherlock leant down to examine the corpse.

"He was surveying an attempt to steal ten thousand loaned and un-catalogued coins from the reign of Emperor Trajan. A man had been killed on a previous robbery. Although he admitted no knowledge of the murder he's a wanted man in several regions of Egypt."

"Sounds charming, just the sort of man Heather should be socialising with." Sherlock completely ignored the statement and picked at the nails of the deceased.

"His hands are dirty but not bloody, more like work than a struggle. Plumber judging by the lime scale under his nails."

"Poisoned," John put in, "and probably quite nearby if he was able to answer Heather's questions. No burns or bruises on the neck or wrists so that discounts Heather's rope theory. We'll have to have his blood tested quickly or whatever's in his system could work its way out." Sherlock nodded and jumped to his feet, striding from the room he waved Lestrade over.

"Make sure Molly gets him quickly and does a full toxicology report on his blood. And find a building in the area that's having boiler or washing machine trouble, we're looking for a missing plumber."

**I've been ill, surely that's enough to warrant a review or two?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again, ill as I am, here is the chapter. A little bit of Molly here who, I'm afraid, won't make it into this story much. Maybe next time because I do love her.**

_**Bored411:**__**you in luck with drunkenness as that is exactly how this chapter starts, Sherlock's reaction…well you'll have to wait to see ;)**_

**Issues of Drunken Flatmates**

"Maybe I should move." Heather leant heavily on the table of the bar as she took gulps of the vodka and lime Sam had placed in front of her.

"Why?" he asked, his feet propped up on the chair at her side as he sipped from a beer bottle.

"Well it's all since I moved isn't it." She closed her eyes and he waited as she swayed slightly then opened them and glanced around, "Stupid viruses, getting kidnapped, meeting a dead man walking. Never would have happened before." Sam snorted a little beer back into the bottle.

"Kidnapped!"

"And the flat is a bit full what with all of my books."

"Can we get back to the Kidnapped part please?"

"And Sherlock's rude, and mean, I don't think he likes me much. I don't know why I didn't do anything. I don't think I did anything."

"Heather." Sam sighed, she looked up from her now empty glass and gave him a large smile. It wasn't exactly heart melting, she was Heather, a very drunk Heather at that. Her eyes were large, greener than the normal hazel and a little vacant, not to mention one was a slightly different shape to the other. Her nose was a little flat and slightly rounded and her lips were chapped and peeling under the swipe of Vaseline that she re applied after every drink with drunken accuracy. The hair tie had fallen out somewhere between the third and fourth bar so her hair was swaying about her face. She ran a hand through and gripped it at the base of her neck as she smiled at him. He raised an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"Buy me another drink."

"I think you've had enough Pet. It's half 7, let's get you home." She groaned and pouted at him.

"Just one more, then we can go home." He rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink, she followed him up to the bar.

"Vodka shot and another beer please." The bar tender grabbed the beer and put it on the counter with a glass for the Vodka. "But that's it Heather, then we're going." She nodded innocently as the bar tender returned with the Vodka. Before he could start pouring she snatched it out of his hands and headed back to the table. Sam raised his eyes to the roof and handed over a couple of twenty pound notes. "If you let me leave with the bottles then you can have the change as tip." The bar tender snorted and waved him away.

"Just get her out of here, I don't fancy cleaning her up off the floor when she konks out." Sam nodded to him.

"Thanks mate."

He headed back over to the table and grabbed Heather's elbow, pulling her out of the chair and out of the bar. She clung tightly to his arm and walked shakily at his side. "You know this'll be my first tip to your place."

"Who says you're coming inside?"

"Nice to know where I stand." She laughed and squeezed his arm. A few groups of students passed them by as they walked, just beginning their night out.

"You know exactly where you stand." He hummed and threw his empty bottle into a bin at the entrance to an alleyway before grabbing hers, taking a few glugs then passing it back. She took a sip, stumbling a little on a crack in the pavement. He watched her closely, the slight wince of her face as she walked and the way her tongue ran across her teeth after every sip.

"Did you really get kidnapped?" She nodded lazily.

"Mmhm, me and Sherlock, they chucked me both in a boot and everything. Thought I was going to die. But I didn't." she told him, dropping the bottle of vodka in a pile of rubbish bags on the side of the road waiting for collection. He smiled.

"Really? And here was me thinking I was talking to a ghostie."

"Woooooooooooooo" she wiggled her fingers in his face and laughed as he span her in front of him, gripping her arms and walking her backwards.

"Very funny." He stumbled slightly and she cheered.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who got pissed."

"Shut up." He grabbed her waist and they continued down the road. "We nearly there?"

"I think so."

"Think?"

"I've only lived here a month or two plus everything's a little…spinny." She stared at the road leading to the left, her eyes narrowing, he watched her grin suddenly appear. Heather grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street. "This way." She started running when the sandwich shop came in sight. He called after her but she was too wasted to notice so instead he followed at a jog. When he reached the door she was digging in her coat pocket for her keys, the lock stuck when she finally slotted them inside and she rattled it. He sighed and put one hand over hers on the wood to help her push, she twisted the key fully and they both stumbled through into the hallway laughing. "shhhh shhhh" she giggled in a stage whisper placing her hand over his mouth.

He hadn't realised how close she was, or maybe he had, he just hadn't pushed her away. Heather was looking up at him with half her drunken smile still residing. She reached up and pulled his head down, pressing her lips against his, he responded and pushed her back against the wall and then pulling away.

"Are we really doing this again?" She nodded and he shrugged, burying his hands in her hair and tugging her closer.

_**SH**_

John collapsed onto the sofa and shut his eyes. 4 hours of following Sherlock around London looking for the missing plumbers work. And when they finally found it there was nobody home. The large town house seemed to be totally empty but the company insisted that it was the address Jackson Berry had been sent to for the past three weeks. It was too well protected to break into and Lestrade wasn't able to come down due to a stabbing in a shopping centre an hour and a half before, so they had returned to the flat. Sherlock was positively growling as he paced up and down the living room.

"Just sit down Sherlock." John snapped.

"I refuse to believe that there is absolutely nothing productive to do until tomorrow morning." he replied, throwing his arms about angrily.

"People need to sleep, we'll go down to Barts before my shift starts tomorrow and…"

"No, we can go now, if Molly takes some bloods I'll just run the tests myself."

"She's probably gone home."

"Then I'll phone her."

"Or we could have some dinner and do it tomorrow morning when normal people solve murders."

"Not hungry." Sherlock answered. John groaned and leaned forward.

"I am."

"Then I'll go to Barts and you can stay here and eat." Sherlock took his coat off the chair where he'd thrown it and John got up.

"This is ridiculous Sherlock." Sherlock raised a hand to stop him talking and fixed his eyes on the door, listening. "What?"

"Shhh." Sherlock waved his hand again and John strained his ears. The front door downstairs was rattling. He frowned and edged closer to Sherlock. They heard the door being thrust open and laughing, drunk laughing. Sherlock relaxed and rolled his eyes as someone down the stairs whispered very loudly.

"Shhh Shhh." Sherlock opened their door and the pair peered down the stairs. Heather was locked in what appeared to be a very passionate kiss with the man from the café. John's eyebrows shot up and he realised they should probably leave her too it. Sherlock watched them stumble towards her door and listened to the thump of the drunken destruction of her flat. He turned to John.

"Now we're defiantly going out." John pulled on his coat.

"Ohhh yes."

_**SH**_

"What are you doing here?" John asked Molly. She looked up startled and smiled.

"I work here."

"But it's a bit late for autopsy isn't it?" She shrugged and motioned to the corpse.

"Toxins require immediate autopsy or you risk losing evidence. Where's Sherlock?" John motioned behind him.

"Straight to the lab, he asked me to get the file." Molly pulled her gloves off and picked up the Jackson Berry file from her desk.

"You look tired, long day?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should go home, get some shut eye."

"I doubt I'd get much sleep there." He noted her confused expression, "Heather has a… guest."

"Oh," Molly smiled and then understood the subtext, "Oh! Right…well that's, that's…good. I think." He smiled and held up the file.

"I should take this to…"

"Yes, yes, sorry for keeping you. If you need anything just, give me a call." She smiled sweetly and he nodded, before turning and heading back to Sherlock in the lab. He was staring intently at the Mass Spectrometer as it whirred efficiently.

"I got the file and Molly's in, she working on the plumber." If Sherlock heard him he didn't show it. Not that that was much of an indicator, so John threw the file down on the table and sat down at the computer staring at the loading screen, slowly dozing off.

**Once again I must sit here in my slowly darkening room, squint at the screen while 'Parade's End' plays in the background, and beg you for a review or two. **


	5. Chapter 5

**It's all work, work, work here at university. Well by that I mean copying out lecture slides while watching 'The amazing spiderman'. Still I have busy times and essays and visits and urg. Anyway, onto your reviews.**

_**Bored411:**__** I'll admit that this was possibly one of the best scenes to write, interesting and Sherlock reacts differently to how I'd originally planned but when I thought about it, it worked quite well with his character. (although you'll have to wait until the next chapter for that)**_

_**Miss Molly:**__** Thank you! I'm really glad to hear it. :D**_

_**MoodySpark:**__** Good to know you're enjoying it! Hope you like the rest too :)**_

**Indecent visits**

"urrg." Heather threw an arm over her eyes and tried to roll onto her stomach. The snort of a shock waking from her side reminded her of the man lying across a good third of her bed, he lashed out and grabbed her wrist pulling her toward him, his eyes suddenly wide open.

"Oh! Oh blimey, it's you." He let go and shut his eyes again letting her collapse on his chest with a groan. "What the bloody hell were we drinking last night? Floor cleaner?"

"Tequila I think."

"You remember?"

"No I'm going off the taste in my mouth."

"So no morning sex?"

"God no." They lay in silence for a few moments and then Heather pushed his arm.

"Make me breakfast."

"Make your own sodding breakfast."

"But I'm hung over." She moaned.

"So am I."

"I had more than you."

"I did more work than you."

"How do you know that?"

"I always do more work than you." She slapped his chest hard and he jumped up, looking down at the red mark. "What the hell was that for?"

"For being a jerk."

"A 'jerk'? How many American TV shows have you watched over the past month?"

"Oh go and boil your head." He shifted himself off the bed and walked to the doorway.

"That's more like it. A nice British insult in the morning." He looked to the left and then the right.

"Left." She called out but not before throwing a pillow at his naked backside. Heather grabbed a large blue t-shirt from the pile of clothes that had been kicked unceremoniously off the bed along with the duvet and retrieved a pair of pyjama trousers from the wash bag. The house seemed too quiet so she flicked on the radio and pressed play on whatever CD was already in it. The fridge was empty, devoid of everything but salad, an uncooked chicken, some butter and some left over chilli con carne that she really didn't fancy. Did she really want to take a trip to the shops at, she looked at the clock, six in the morning. Pulled a pack of mints off the side she tipped three of them into her mouth to combat the nasty taste.

Heather spent a good three minutes staring at the ceiling before reopening the fridge in the vain hope that something tasty would magically have appeared inside but no joy. Her eyes raised to the ceiling again cursing her hatred of food shopping alone. A thought crossed her mind as she examined a crack in the white paint. What about the flat upstairs, it was bound to have some sort of food. Mrs Hudson clearly thought both boys incapable of shopping for themselves, which to some extent was true, so got them a few essentials every week. Maybe …

She walked to the door and propped it open with a copy of the yellow pages, she slipped across the hall, opening the front door and grabbing the paper on the doorstep before prancing up the stairs and sliding quietly into their living room. No one home. The fridge was calling so she crossed the room, throwing the paper onto the table, and opened it up, there must be something. Veg, precooked ham slices, salad dressing, milk, a jug of what looked suspiciously like blood, some cheese and right on the top shelf, bacon. "Thank you." She whispered and snatched it, closing the fridge and easing her way back to the door. A yell from downstairs stopped her creeping and forced her to run down the stairs, slipping on her trousers near the middle and bouncing down the last four on her backside. She winced but snatched up the bacon packet from the floor and raced into her apartment. Sam was awkwardly holding a hand towel in front of himself and staring at the visiting young woman across from him.

She was a few inches taller than Heather with naturally straight blonde hair, a rounded, doll like face and greyish blue eyes. She gripped a beige coat in her nicely manicured hands and backed away towards the door, tottering in high heels.

"Lizzie!" Heather's eyes widened and she grabbed a towel from the washing pile just inside the kitchen, throwing it at Sam. "For god's sake Sam I gave you a towel last night, use it." He stared at her in confusion for a moment, then caught on and nodded.

"Sorry, I got in and realised I'd forgotten it, I put the bed stuff from the sofa in the washing machine. That alright?"

"Yeah." He backed into the shower room again and Heather sighed.

"Sam works for me, he ah, needed a place to stay for the night, his girlfriend kicked him out."

"Oh." Lizzie looked around the flat, "You've been busy."

"You have no idea." Heather mumbled.

"It's…nice."

"Nice, is that it?"

"Well, I like the painting." She nodded to a picture of a starry night over a large lake.

"Richard gave that to me when I was 19, I've had it for years."

"Doesn't mean it's not nice." Heather bit her lip and glanced at the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"No thank you." Lizzie smiled and looked down at Heather's hands. "Why are you holding bacon?"

"I was going to make some breakfast."

"Did you go out dressed like that?"

"No, I went up to my friends' flat upstairs, Lizzie it's six in the morning what are you doing here?"

"6:15 actually and I'm on my way to work, I have one of the early slots today." A cough from the side brought their attention to Sam, who strode from the bathroom – now with boxers- and leant on a cosy looking arm chair.

"Lizzie, this is Sam Elliot head of ancient texts and Sam this is Elizabeth, my little sister." Sam's eyes widened as he blinked between the two women. Elizabeth, average height, corporate fashion sense, all over well-proportioned and he was sure he'd seen her on the telly, then there was Heather, only a touch over five foot wearing a ratty T-shirt and stained pyjama trousers and, not that he would ever tell her, but slightly on the plump side.

"I just stopped in to say hi, mum was wondering if we'd get to see the flat soon?" Heather raised an eyebrow.

"You're in the flat."

"Oh, isn't there more?"

"Not really."

"Well, I guess I could take some pictures and send them to her." Lizzie pulled out her i-phone and held it up to the flat but Heather grabbed it.

"No, no pictures. I'll invite you all around myself, when I have time."

"Do you want me to e-mail you my schedule?" Sam smiled at the well hidden frustration that Heather was fighting off and pulled out a cigarette.

"That would be great." She smiled and began walking to the door.

"Oh and what are you wearing to lunch?" Heather screwed up her nose.

"This?" Lizzie glared at her.

"Funny. Seriously what are you wearing?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know David and Nat are coming back from Durham this weekend so mum's doing a special Sunday lunch. Remember?"

"No." Lizzie laughed.

"How could you forget that?"

"I didn't forget, no one told me."

"Yes we did."

"No, I haven't had a phone call from mum for two weeks."

"Oh this has been planned ages."

"Well I had no idea."

"Oh my gosh, seriously? You're going to blame me for this?"

"I'm not blaming you I'm just saying, I wasn't told."

"Yes you were, you just can't accept that we told you and you forgot." Lizzie turned to Sam and looked at him sadly, "I'm sorry your girlfriend kicked you out." He nodded and gave a slightly over the top 'choked up' performance as she smiled and headed to the door, taking her i-phone from Heather's hand. "So I guess I'll see you there."

"Unless you get hit by a bus." Heather responded jokily. Lizzie looked at her disgusted.

"Don't do that. Seriously, it's so weird."

The door swung shut behind her and Heather retrieved the yellow pages from the gap to push it to. She threw the book onto the sofa but it overshot and slid off the other side. Ignoring the failure she headed to the kitchen and pulled out a frying pan, whacking it onto the hob and pouring in the oil before layering bacon on the sizzling surface. Sam watched her carefully.

"So…"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"That was your sister."

"Yes."

"Your, younger, sister."

"I told you I don't…"

"Has she always bossed you around?"

"Sam!" She snapped, turning on him. He looked interested at her but she shook her head and stormed passed him into the living room and then into her bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He stuck his cigarette into his mouth and began jostling the bacon around in the pan with a spatula from what appeared to be a cleaned out plant pot on the surface. Snooping in the cupboards he came across some bread and took a small crumpled pack of butter from the fridge. When his sandwiches were complete he took them to the bedroom door and kicked it open gently.

Heather was curled up at the head of the bed, her arms wrapped around a small stuffed dog and her gaze fixed on the stand alone dressing mirror in the corner. He put the plate down on the bedside table in front of her and jumped onto the bed by her side.

"M'not hungry."

"Yes you are, you're hungover. Eat the grease, it'll perk you up."

"M'fat enough as it is, don't need bacon too." Sam looked down at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Eat the sandwich."

"No."

"Starve."

"Fine." He sighed and knelt up on the bed, grabbing the dog and throwing it behind him. "Hey!" she yelped, "mind her!" he gripped the waist of her trousers and yanked them down, pulling her off the bed to stand in front of the mirror and removing her T-shirt. She grabbed for it and when he refused to hand it over, tried to turn away from the offending reflection.

"See this." He wrapped his arms around her and grabbed a small roll of fat on her stomach, "This is fat, it keeps you warm, keeps you soft and it give me something to hang onto." She blushed furiously and pushed his hands away. He leant back and slapped her backside towards the bed, "Now eat the sandwich because I want a shag in payment for telling your sister I was kicked out of my own place." He put the sandwich in her hand and threw himself backwards onto the bed.

**I would love to say something equally as witty as my previous posts but it appears that my brain isn't really on today so I'll just ask politely. May I have some reviews?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Still ill but I now have several new books to tunnel through. I've gone through a major reading spree, finished 'The Ladies Paradise' in three days, 'The Fault in our Stars' in one (oohh I cried)**

**Anyway, time for a new chapter and, after that brief interlude, time to get back to the case…**

_**Bored411:**_** Thank you. Sam just…well, did it. It was kind of rude really but luckily I think she took it the right way. I have plenty of friends who said they would slap him if he did that to them. Sherlock will notice the bacon is gone but I doubt he'll careit's not something he'll be very bothered by. Maybe a sigh, a swift glare in her direction.**

**Pearls of Wisdom **

"Anything?" John carried the two cups of coffee into the lab and placed one down in front of Sherlock who was steadily drumming his slender fingers on the counter top.

"The victim wasn't working in the house we visited." John frowned and picked up the file.

"But that was the address on record."

"Exactly, so either the company is lying or Mr Berry was lying to the company, I'm guessing the latter."

"And you got this how?"

"Plaster dust in the hair, lime scale and scratches on his hands, sawdust caught in his jeans and paint on the bottom of his left shoe. The victim was working in a house under major construction and the house we visited was complete and silent with no sign of any work."

"So if he wasn't working there, then where was he working?" Sherlock pulled out his phone and began texting.

"I'll get Lestrade to look into the occupants of the house we visited. They must own two properties in the same area, but why?" John shook his head, thinking out loud in answer to Sherlock's question.

"Rental, a shop, renovation to re-sell, family, could be anything." Sherlock took a sip of coffee and peered down the microscope at the slide he had prepared. "What are you looking at?"

"Some sort of symbol. Paper, cheep, most likely a leaflet or page in a book." He leant back so John could take a look. "Does it mean anything to you?" John squinted down at the tiny black image of a cartoon horse and rider printed on the ripped corner of grainy green paper and the letters below;

ARL

TRE

He shook his head and pulled back.

"Not a clue." Sherlock sighed exasperated.

"No I didn't think so." He took the slide and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"Sherlock," John complained, "You can't just take evidence." Sherlock picked up his coat and scarf from the chair at his side and pulled them on.

"It won't be missed." He strode out of the lab and John rolled his eyes following after taking a much needed swig from his coffee cup.

_**SH**_

"Shouldn't you be at work? Or at least in your own flat?" Sherlock huffed when he stepped into the living room and saw Heather laid out on their sofa, staring at the tv in some comfy trousers and a snug jumper with a bag of dorritos in her hand.

"They gave me the day off." She grumbled, "And my mother keeps calling about her lunch on Sunday, can't hear my program."

"Why did they give you the day off?" John questioned.

"Something about 'emotional trauma', I'm not traumatised I'm just hung over." John chucked as Sherlock threw his jacket over the arm of the sofa and left for the kitchen.

"You were pretty merry last night."

"If by that you mean trolleyed, out of it, blasted, hammered, sloshed, blitzed, wrecked, annihilated or wasted beyond measure then yeah, I was pretty merry…wait, you saw me?" Sherlock reappeared with a slice of toast and a buttered croissant which he handed to John.

"Obviously otherwise John wouldn't have been able to make the observation of your intoxicated state."

"So, exactly how much…"

"If you're asking whether we saw your visitor than the answer is yes, what are you watching?" Heather blushed deeply and avoided their faces.

"Sorry about that, like I said I was pretty out of it."

"So this, Sam Elliot, he's your boyfriend?" John asked.

"What? Oh, no, just a friend. We had a kind of thing, when we met but, no, just a colleague."

"Sherlock says he knows him." Heather gave a grim smile.

"You want to know if he's a villain?"

"He's already aware of the fact Sam Elliot is a criminal, what are you watching?" Sherlock repeated. Heather sighed and looked up at John who was steadily munching his way through his breakfast.

"I dated a police officer for a month, back when I'd first got the supervisor job at the library. We used to meet for lunch every day so I'm in the booking area one day and I find myself sat next to a guy in a leather coat with wandering eyes and a strong London accent. A con man being let go after orchestrating a series of robberies on banks and bookies."

"Why would they let him go?"

"Lack of evidence." Sherlock informed them, "I remember glancing over the file. Complete nonsense of course, there was plenty of evidence, the real crime is that nobody found it." Heather ignored the comment and turned back to John.

"Anyway we were sitting by the booking desk and he started chatting to me, I was bored and interested so we got talking."

"To a criminal." John raised his eyebrow and Heather sighed at the obvious unease in his voice.

"He's not that bad really, behind the whole immoral, criminal outlook he's genuinely good with languages, even the dead ones, and he's amazingly well read on ancient writings, which makes up for his taste in crap television soaps and the way he does whatever the hell he wants without thinking about anyone else."

"No wonder Sherlock likes him." John murmured. Heather smiled and pressed play on the remote, turning back to the TV.

"Are you done?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, why?" he sighed,

"And John says I'm the one who doesn't listen."

"It's a TV show Sherlock, an American one called Bones. They solve crimes, which is exactly why I didn't want to tell you what it was because now you're going to sit there and point out how stupid they all are and how amazing you are." He frowned when she switched it off and sat up, grabbing the jacket from the side before it fell onto the floor. "What have you got in here?" She asked, delving her hand into the pocket and retrieving the slide from St. Barts.

"Evidence," John stated, "which should have been left back at the hospital."

"He was at the horse fair?" Sherlock's head snapped up.

"What?"

"Your victim," she paused, "Jackson. He was at the Carshalton horse fair"

"How do you know that?" Heather's shifted under his scrutiny and shrugged.

"This is the ticket stub from the fair. The horse with the little kid riding on the top, 'arl' and 'tre' are the end of 'Pearl and Centre'. The Pearl Centre for disabled riders, they're a charity that teaches handicapped children how to ride and they have a fair every year; loads of animals, local arts and crafts, some of the kids do little riding shows. It's nice."

"You've been." John asked.

"Yeah, used to go every year, we only lived around the corner; five minute walk along the path and up the hill." Heather jumped as Sherlock leapt to his feet and grabbed both his jacket and the slide away from her, striding purposefully out of the door.

"Come on John!" he called up the stairs.

"Welcome to the band of Sherlock's dogs." Heather quipped. John smiled slightly.

"Do I get treats?"

"Nope, maybe a fetching leather collar though." She winked at his bashful look and turned her TV show back on as he quickly left the room.

**I'm swiftly running out of fruit tea and I have a seminar tomorrow on a book I have yet to receive from Amazon and therefore have not read. I'm not sure which is most terrifying. However, your reviews are a light in the dark territories of tea-lessness and book-deprivation so, if you please…**


	7. Chapter 7

**The facts are these: I'm not going to lie to you. I'm still ill, I can't get out a sentence without coughing my lungs up but I know it'll go when I get home in about two weeks. I know this doesn't physically stop me from updating but I love my stories and I love replying to you lot; so when I don't feel at my best I feel like what I'm putting up (dispite the fact that I wrote most of it while well) isn't as good as it could be. Therefore I keep putting off updating. But that's not fair on you. So I'll tell you two things. 1: This story is finished and therefore the entire thing WILL, without fail, go up. SO no worrying about me cutting you off half way because I give you my word I won't. 2:no matter how ill I get/ down I feel, I will promise that there will be AT LEAST one update a week. (although I try to update every other day)**

_**Miss Molly:**__** I've stocked up on milk and tea so no worries in that direction. However due to this cough I don't sleep very well so I will have to swap my tea deprivation for delirium. Oh well, many great writer wrote in the throes of delirium. Coleridge, Robert Louis Stephenson, Hemingway, on the other hand they were all on drugs not three days of no sleep so I'm not sure how that compares… I'll shut up now.**_

_**Bored411:**__** Tea-lessness. Hmm. Well since, technically, all words are 'made-up words' I'm sure it kind of counts. As for Heather, she will be a part of this case, though not by choice. However I'm wary of the fact that Sherlock is clearly about Sherlock and John, not about the housemate who happened to take the pokey flat downstairs, so I'm not forcing her into any action that Sherlock would clearly keep her out of.**_

**No Time To Rest**

Lestrade leant back on his chair and smiled at the warm cup in his hands, two straight days of paperwork and a case his team didn't seem to be bothered about meant he'd been filling out requisition forms and researching the Roylott family, by himself, for so long the words were blurring. This was the first break he'd allowed himself in five hours. Scarlett Roylott, the last living Roylett he could find, was exceptionally difficult to get hold of. In fact it was 6 o'clock on a Friday evening and he still hadn't gotten close to hearing her voice. He was beginning to think she didn't exist. "Sir, I'm heading off now, that alright?" Greg looked up at the woman who'd poked her head through his door, Donovon's bushy curls were tied back in a pony-tail and she'd clearly slicked on a bit of make-up.

"Going out tonight?" She nodded and straightened up, stepping a little further into the office.

"Some of the specials are going out for a girls night, thought I might tag along." She shrugged and her eyes scanned the papers spread around his desk. "You turning in soon?" he laughed sarcastically and held up a few pages.

"Not until someone tells me why that plumber wasn't working where he should have been."

"Can't you put someone else on it?"

"Who? Everyone's going out." He paused realising what he'd insinuated and backtracked, "Sorry Donovon, I know you work hard, it's some of the others who need…"

"A kick up the backside sir? I know. I'm on shift tomorrow morning if you need help sir."

"If I'm still listening to answer phone tunes then I may take you up on that. Have a good night Sally."

"You too Sir." She turned with a single polite nod in his direction and strutted out of CID, leaving Lestrade alone with his coffee once more. He placed his feet on the table, crossed and relaxed, sipping from the mug as he scrolled through various numbers on his computer. If this plumber worked for someone there had to be a record of a number or receipt, traders were careful, they kept copies of agreements as protection for liable. He sighed and let one hand dangle off the arm of the chair, his fingers fiddling with the levers beneath the seat as he studied the screen hoping for inspiration.

"Carshalton!" Lestrade's finger's tightened around a lever and pulled up in reaction to Sherlock's voice. The chair juddered and, with a sound like whooshing air, the seat slid to its lowest height, leaving Greg with his feet above his head on the desk and his eyes at desk top level.

"Sherlock!" he growled as he tried to pull his feet from the top of his desk, the rubber soles of his leather shoes making it difficult. "Seriously? Learn to knock!"

"I'm sorry was I interrupting the highly important police business of toying with office chairs?" Greg finally managed to push himself out of the chair and into a standing position, his bones groaned under the strain causing him to frown.

"What do you want?"

"Carshalton."

"What's that?"

"Not what, where. It's an area of North Surrey just south of London, about half an hour by train."

"And what's it got to do with the case."

"I need to know if the name Roylott has any significance in that town."

"And you came to me?"

"The sign on your door says detective I was operating under the wild notion that you may able to do some detecting."

"The sign on my door says Detective Inspector and that means I get to choose what detecting I do and what my team does." Sherlock turned and walked out into the main concourse, he held out his arms and span around dramatically.

"Well your team appears to be absent." Lestrade sighed and crossed his arms.

"Check the old family records down at the library."

"Already in progress, I dropped John there on my way here." Greg shook his head and turned, heading back to his desk and fixing his chair to the right height. He typed in several commands, all the while speaking harshly to Sherlock who refused to move from just inside the doorway.

"I'm not a secret agent Sherlock I can't just pull up files on… huh!"

"You found something." Sherlock stated. Lestrade looked up at him.

"No…yes, not from the search." He held up the top page of the file by the phone. "Elm House, the family home of the Roylott family. Surrey area code on the phone number." He typed the name into Google and nodded, "Yep, right smack bang in the middle of Carshalton. Happy?" Lestrade looked up and sighed into the now empty room. "You're welcome."

He looked around at the mess that covered his desk and shook his head. Leaving his coffee to grow cold on the table and heading home.

**I'd like to go to sleep now, but judging by the feel of my lungs that won't be happening for a while, so instead Im going to sit, wrapped in the Doctor Who blanket my mother crocheted for me and drink tea wleatching 'Buffy' and crying over the fact that I don't own Spike. Reviews would be appreciated even though I don't know if I deserve them after leaving you so long. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Well after a minor panic about deadlines and travel plans I've finally gotten to this. It may be short but I have a feeling you'll like it.**

**Expect the Expected**

She'd almost forgotten how dull the area around home could be. The walk to town had been uneventful, the houses had hardly changed, a few shops had crippled under the weight of the recession but other than that, nothing. The same old woman tottering to the shop wearing the same pretty party dress that she had insisted upon wearing 'back in the day', the same man handing out copies of the 'Big Issue' outside the newsagents, the same gathering of new young mothers inside the many coffee shops. All in all, after sifting through a few new releases at the book store and treating herself to a new pair of socks, she was ready to catch the bus home. Besides, the fair would be on in an hour.

Her house key stuck in the lock, mum had dug it out for her and it was obviously tacky with something. Heather jiggled it about until it finally turned and impatiently kicked the door open. "Mum?" she called out.

"Living room." came the reply.

Putting the bag containing her new socks down on the hall table she headed left, towards the closed living room door. Through the gap at the bottom she could hear the chinking of china and low voices, more guests? Hesitantly she pushed open the door, her mouth dropped.

"I'm sorry."

Heather looked back at John as he spoke, still unable to form any kind of sentence. Sherlock sat bolt upright on the gold sofa, sipping tea from the second best china. He stared at her unnervingly, as if trying to evaluate her response to his presence. Unfortunately for him this just made her even angrier, if that was possible.

"Mother, could you leave us alone for a moment."

Rosemary looked between her daughter in the doorway and Sherlock staring intently back and smiled a little awkwardly, pushing herself out of her chair and sliding out of the door.

"More tea perhaps." She pondered as she continued into the kitchen. The door to the living room slammed shut, "Perhaps not."

"I am," John shook his head, "so, so, sorry Heather." She held up a hand, still glaring at Sherlock.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked.

"Drinking tea."

"In my house!" she yelled.

"Your point?"

"Oh my..! It's my house Sherlock!"

"Yes I think that conclusion has already been made."

"Shut up." John murmured.

"When was the last time I randomly turned up at your mother's house? Answer? Never. Because you don't do it Sherlock! You don't walk into other people's houses without asking to be there."

"I asked your mother."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"I don't believe this. And you, you should have stopped him." Heather waved a hand at John. "Come on, out." She grabbed his tea cup and put it down on the side, thrusting his coat into his lap and pulling him towards the door. He easily shrugged her off but followed diligently, "For God's sake you live with me, don't you do enough snooping that way?" She opened the front door and he stepped through.

"Exciting as your life of family dining and buying socks must be," He told her as she closed the door in his face, "We're here to investigate the murder of Jackson Berry."

Heather leant with her back against the door, she closed her eyes and sighed. She should have known he would turn up as soon as she mentioned the Pearl Centre ticket, it was the only logical step to take. Add into the mix that he could stick his big nose in where she didn't want it and all in all, she realised, she was pretty stupid to think he wouldn't come. Groaning quietly to herself she banged her head back against the front door before spinning around and opening it again. Sherlock was still stood, waiting for her to let him in.

"Why can't you just get a hotel room?" John clicked his tongue, glaring at Sherlock.

"He doesn't do Hotel's apparently." Heather and John shared and look of frustration but she finally relented and stepped aside.

"I'll make up the guest room," Sherlock strolled back into the living room, "under protest." John rocked on his heels uncomfortably.

"I'm…"

"Sorry?" she asked, "Yeah. So am I by the way." He frowned.

"Why?"

"Spare room only has one bed."

**I can't imagine how awkward it would be to go home and find Sherlock with my family. What about you?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Last night I did a Heather. This morning I am wearing a large warm jumper, watching 'Have I Got News for You' and sipping sparking water from a 2 litre bottle with a straw, trying to fend off the hangover that I'm sure will worsen as soon as the extra morning drunkenness wears off.**

**Bored411: I'm certain my dad would make him leave and then complain about him for the next 4 months. Poor John, it really isn't his fault is it. :)**

**Divide and Conquer**

"Here we are." Heather motioned towards the ugly grey building the three had arrived in front of. Sherlock's eyes were darting around, examining every window, every door, the roof, the fences and the path to the fields. They had trekked through a short forest area and arrived at the Pearl Centre with Heather, reluctantly leading the way but at this point Sherlock instantly took charge, he strode forwards into the building leaving both John and Heather to follow behind.

John quietly asked questions about the Horse shelter and the charity work, it was clear he was still trying to make up for their intrusion on her home.

"How did you come to know about it?" he asked, pushing the door leading down to the stables open. She handed three tickets over to the lady at the other side of the door and pointed at Sherlock who'd clearly just walked past her. The woman nodded pertly, so she'd noticed him then.

"I worked here for a while, just before my exams." They walked through over the sandy floor of the indoor paddock, glancing at the tables lain with glass animals, brooms, jewellery and cake. John stopped at a table stacked with home-made jam and pulled out his wallet.

"You like horses then?" Heather shrugged.

"Prefer them to something like dolphins I guess. I only really quit because they kept putting me in a team and I was pretty self-conscious, I really preferred working alone. Just me and the horse." John nodded interestedly and they continued walking. Heather took a quick look around and then nudged John's arm, motioning for him to follow her. She lead him out of the large barn style doors and across the yard to a more secluded area where a couple of horses were shut into their stalls. She let out a quick rising whistle, "Mal, Malachi?"

A horse head appeared above one stall door and she smiled. "We weren't meant to have favourites." She explained to John, "But Mal is a bad tempered old man and I love him." She stroked his white face and smoothed some dirt from the liver coloured splotches. "He won't bite," she assured John, "Just as long as you're assertive and you don't make any sudden moves." John eyed the horse warily but reached out to scratch him behind the ears.

"Did you ride?" Heather snorted and Mal shook his head heavily, his lips searching her open palm for food.

"I wasn't exactly allowed to." John didn't ask but he watched her quizzically. Heather sighed and cleared her throat. "I was overweight." She explained. "5 foot tall, fluctuating between thirteen and fourteen stone. I just couldn't drop the weight. As volunteers we were meant to get the odd free ride but they strategically never picked me. I knew why, I worked it out pretty quick."

"Didn't you speak to someone?"

"I was quite introverted as a child." She continued. "I didn't do much talking to people I didn't know. According to my mum people always commented to her on how polite I was. Probably the only mum in the world who would despair at that comment."

"Why?"

"Well, I was polite because I was uncomfortable. I'd say hello, thank you, excuse me, sorry and goodbye. That was pretty much it. More conversation than that and I would totally freeze up." She scratched behind Mal's ear.

"What changed?"

"Erm, it was pretty gradual but I think university helped. Didn't know anyone, had no clue how to live with people I'd never met before. I think I cried the entire first week and then just got on with it. I kind of learnt to survive, I learnt to live with myself. It was probably the most important thing I learned there to be honest. Well that and not to drink flaming Sambuca with lip gloss on." John frowned so heather mimed flames on her face and smiled at him. He chuckled but it stopped short when he heard a loud shout coming from the nearby field.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

_**SH**_

Sherlock walked straight through the crowds, he had briefly scanned the fair but there was clearly nothing of any significance here. It wasn't really that surprising, the victims ticket had obviously never been used so why would there be anything.

The light outside blinded him for a moment as he stepped out of the building and headed across the courtyard towards the field where the dog trials were being held. As he approached a collie was winding his way in and out of bright yellow posts lined up in a row, gazing happily at his owner as she shouted short commands to him. It was all so country like, normal and tedious.

Sherlock turned to look over the area, the field was on a slight incline so when he backed up a few steps a large house appeared over the top of the centre's main building. "That's Elm house." He looked down in surprise at a little boy stood at his side in a 'sonic the hedgehog' t-shirt, grey trousers and sandals, his eyes narrowed at the child for a moment then, as if deciding the best course of action was to ignore him, he turned away.

"Mum says an old bat lives there but I asked the lady who owns it and she got a bit angry so I don't think people are meant to know about the bat. Is it illegal to own a bat? My friend Rikin says it's illegal, he says that his brother says it's really haunted too, by ghosts! And his cousin told him there's buried treasure. We were pirates that day." When Sherlock didn't answer the little boy continued, "I'd like a pet bat, I'd call it Ben and take it to school with me to scare Maxi, Maxi's not my friend, Maxi don't like bats, or rats, or frogs, or snails, or grey rabbits, only white ones."

"Doesn't."

"What?"

"Maxi doesn't like bats, rats, frogs, snails and grey rabbits."

"That's what I said."

"No you said 'don't' there's a grammatical difference which you should learn if you ever want to be employed." The little boy stared at him for a moment then smiled.

"You're really weird."

"So I've been told."

"James!" the little boy yelped and grabbed Sherlock's coat.

"Don't let her find me!" Sherlock flinched at the contact and froze as the little boy hid behind him. A blonde woman stalked towards the pair of them and Sherlock heard the boy gulp and snigger.

"James I see you there, come out now or I'll take you home." James sidled around Sherlock and pouted.

"But I was telling him about Elm house and the bat." James' mother flushed pink and grabbed his hand.

"I'm so sorry, always have to be careful around him, he doesn't really understand." She held out a hand but Sherlock was too busy eyeing the house.

"What else do you know about the woman that lives there?" She raised her eyebrows but answered him carefully, picking James up in the process.

"Not much, part of some old family, they've lived here for years. Used to have a sort of zoo thing in the grounds but it had to shut down about twenty years ago. Only really had a few reptiles and a lemur anyway. I think they kept the fish in the pond."

"Anything useful?" he sighed. She froze at the insult and bristled slightly.

"I heard there were money troubles, nothing the old bat doesn't deserve." Sherlock's eyes glinted and he turned sharply to face her.

"Why do you say that?"

"The noise," James' mother answered, "They've had work going on for the past half year, nothing goes up, nothing comes down and they make a hell of a racket, James doesn't sleep well anyway and the constant banging and hammering is ridiculous. I thought there was some noise law preventing work at night anyway. If you ask me she should just sell up and move wherever else it is she lives, it's not like anyone round here actually wants her around."

"HOW DARE YOU!" The threesome turned to see a prim looking woman with greying hair tied back in a tight bun, wrinkled flesh that sagged under her eyes and pointed glasses sitting right on the bridge of her nose. "My family have lived in this area since it was all fields, before you rabble moved in with your new money and you noisy little devils!" She motioned to James who stared back wide eyed. "The Roylott money has been feeding this community since before you were born you little tramp so keep your low class ramblings to yourself." James' mother put the boy down and turned on the older woman, angrily clenching her fists.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me Lauren Pope!"

"Sherlock what have you done?" John asked as he and Heather jogged to a stop next to him. He turned on his heel and simply walked away from the argument. "Sherlock!" John shouted after him, Heather looked back at the argument and noticed James waving to them, one hand clutching his mother's trousers. She smiled and waved back before running after the two men.

He lead them down the incline and back into the main building, they passed by the tables and the woman at the door; who gave Sherlock a dark look as he bypassed her once again, and headed out to the front of the building.

"Are we going home?" Heather asked hopefully.

"The two women arguing." Sherlock answered as he marched across the road.

"What Lauren? I went to school with her."

"The other one is a Roylett. Scarlett Roylett I believe." John stopped at the gates that Sherlock opened.

"As in the Scarlett Roylett who owns the house in London, the house where the victim was meant to be working?"

"Yes, keep up John." Sherlock called, already half way up the drive.

"Should we really be trespassing on her property, Sherlock." John called, Heather was already following him, jogging up the drive.

"You knew!" she glared at Sherlock as they came to a stop at the front of the impressively sized house, "You knew she was standing near didn't you, you started a fight so you could come up here."

"Obviously, I had to know she wouldn't be coming home for a while." He stepped under the scaffolding and leant up to the windows and peered through. "John, take a look through here." John moved closer to the glass and cupped his hands over it shielding his eyes from the sun. "What do you see?" Heather kept an eye on the drive, just waiting for Mrs Roylett to return unexpectedly and yell at them all.

"Um, nice house, clean, old, lots of ornaments, she likes animal prints." Sherlock rounded the front of the house checking every window and then disappeared around the back. John and Heather peered around the side of the house, watching him press his nose against each pain of glass and then move on.

"Must be repair work." Heather mentioned. John looked up at the building with her.

"Why?"

"Well, I lived here for eighteen or so years and it doesn't look any different."

John examined the pristine looking brickwork and frowned, deep in thought. Eventually Sherlock re-joined them and sniffed.

"I'm done."

"Great, learn anything?" Sherlock looked down at Heather in disdain and once again simply walked away.

**Now I'm going to curl up in bed and wish this sickly feeling away. Reviews may make me feel better.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm back at home. London called and who was I to ignore her. Unfortunately I have a load of work to do so I can't do too much but sit in my kitchen, sip tea and read Margery Kemp. **

**bored411: ****Thank you, Sherlock and children fascinates me. I'd just love to see him forced to interact with them. I think he'd be awful but still it would be interesting.**

**Miss Molly: **** I agree, I think Sherlock really is quite childish which is why I'd love to see him interacting with children. Thanks for the tip, I'll give it a go if it happens again :)**

**A family Affair**

Lunch was more awkward than usual. Heather sat in between John and Sherlock, a mismatch of chairs because there were too many people to fit around the small table and both John and Heather carefully trying to steer conversation away from Sherlock whenever possible. Luckily he seemed compliant for once, although he did nothing to be polite he did very little to be rude, in fact he did very little at all. He ate slowly, carefully, not commenting on any of her mother's self-put-downs. He seemed content to sit and watch the family interact, and Heather didn't know what idea she found scarier, him infuriating her family or him studying them.

Eventually the conversation, as it always did when the youngest Taylor was in the room, turned to Elizabeth's work. "There's a lot more geography in it than people really think." She explained to John, "The meteorological reports are just one part, the rest is so much more complicated, I have to know what effect the weather will have as well, the flood causes, the drought areas. It's all very complicated."

"Don't get carried away Liz, I did geography too remember." David commented.

"Only until A-Level."

"Still, I have a good memory." She smirked and looked up at him over the piece of broccoli speared on her fork.

"Go on then, name me some A-Level Geography."

"I remember something about stones getting caught in little whirl pools."

Heather nodded and hummed in recognition, Elizabeth looked over at her blankly.

"How do you know anything about it? You didn't do geography at all." Heather reddened slightly but kept a straight face.

"I did a lesson in A-level." Elisabeth smiled.

"oooo, one lesson."

"No, a few."

"Why only a few?" Sherlock asked. Rosemary sipped her wine before answering.

"She didn't get on with the teacher."

"What was it called?" David asked, still pondering his lacking knowledge.

Heather was silently getting on with her meal when Elizabeth spoke up.

"Why don't you ask Heather since she knows everything?" The entire family turned and looked at her.

"Clearly she was lying when she implied she knew about Helicoidal flow, so why bother?" Sherlock asked, sending a false smile around the table. John stopped eating and looked up into space, clearly frustrated by Sherlock's lack of tact.

"Helicoidal flow, that's it!" David agreed, breaking the embarrassing silence.

Rosemary changed the subject quickly, moving on to her garden and the yellow roses hanging over the French doors. Heather remained perfectly silent for the rest of the meal.

**Home is where the heart is. For Heather and for me. Doesn't mean it's perfect…**


	11. Chapter 11

**I have one thing to say. I really am, so very sorry. This may seem like a bit of an anti-climax after the MASSIVE wait some of you have had. I can only tell you that I've had several rather important essays to do, some of them in for the same day and as a sign of just how busy I've been I'll be posting the creative pieces and poems that I had to write for my portfolio onto my writing blog soon so if you fancy reading them then I'll be putting links on my fan-fic profile.**

**Anyway, I'll be posting now…**

**total-animal-lover****: I know it was short but I didn't want to focus too much on Heather's family because they aren't the focus of the story, Sherlock is and if he's not joining in then it's not necessary to the story line, unfortunately. But if I write more than certain people may make come backs.  
**

**bored411****: Sorry I didn't update sooner :( but yes, I can't help thinking that Sherlock at my family dinner would be a horrific affair.  
**

**A Plan**

It was early. Too early, like, 9:00 am early and a Monday. Who was at the door? Heather slumped down the stairs in a large white t-shirt and her underwear, pulling the door open and immediately regretting it. "Heather." She looked away from the occupant of her porch and glanced over her shoulder at Sherlock who stood fully dressed across her hall sipping coffee. She shook her head and stepped aside.

"Come on in," she told Lestrade, "Everyone else has." Ignoring her state of undress she padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

A cup of coffee appeared in front of her and she looked up startled. Sherlock was staring down at her, his long fingers still touching the ceramic. He stared for a good thirty seconds before turning to speak to Lestrade. She picked up the mug, noting it was her favourite coffee mug and trying to work out whether he had worked it out himself of whether her mother had let him know.

"You said you had news for me." Greg reminded Sherlock, standing awkwardly in the unknown kitchen.

"I have motive, and of course your killer."

"Great, let's have it."

"The evidence is circumstantial." Greg sighed.

"I knew there'd be a catch." He crossed his arms, "Go on then, what do you need."

"A warrant."

"Since when have you needed a warrant?" Sherlock stood tall and defiant so Greg lifted his hands and nodded. "Alright, one warrant. What for?"

"Any and all animals located on the Roylett estates. Both Elm house and the London town house. Get two copies."

"You want to hit them both at the same time? When?"

"In two hours." Sherlock called as he walked towards the back door, grabbing the key to the cellar as he went.

"Two Hours! Sherlock!" but he was gone. Lestrade looked down at Heather but she shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest clue." She told him, sipping her coffee blankly.

The doorbell was a loud obnoxious way to gain entrance to Elm house. It rang clearly and in such a tone that Heather could feel the reverberations though her body. She didn't like this plan, mainly because Sherlock still refused to tell her anything but her lines. She hadn't a clue what she was walking into. The door swung open slowly and silently, revealing the old woman from the dog show the day before. John and Sherlock hung back, hidden behind the bushes surrounding the house. "I'm sorry Mrs Roylett, do you know me?" The old woman eyed her for a moment then nodded.

"You're the Taylor child, the polite one." John noticed Heather stiffen at the observation but she smiled through it.

"My name's Heather, I was wondering whether I could talk to you?"

"About what?"

"Well, I work for the British Library and I've been tasked with going through some records that apply to your family and this estate. I just had some questions." John's lips twitched nervously, pouting and unpouting as he watched the exchange.

"I don't like this plan Sherlock."

"Why?"

"It could be dangerous."

"Only if you don't stay focussed John. Now keep a hold of that torch."

Mrs Roylett had opened the door wider for Heather to step through and closed it quickly behind her. Heather took off her coat and hung it on the hat stand in the hallway before following her host into the main drawing room.

"Now, what can I help you with exactly?" Heather sat down on the sofa, cleared her throat and crossed her legs over.

"Well firstly the early plans seem to show a basement of sorts beneath the building but they disappear during the war." Mrs Roylett's eyes narrowed.

"Really? How interesting. I mean, I was just a girl but my father never mentioned any dramatic changes to the house plans."

"That is odd." Heather continued, "Well, the other issue is the Animalarium that used to be here. You only shut it down twenty years ago and according to the records you had several animals in your possession that just disappeared. Mainly reptilian. We like our records to be complete and I thought I'd better let you know so you can fix it." Mrs Roylett smiled.

"Well thank you, I didn't realise. Did you notify your superiors?" Heather smiled.

"Oh no, our work is strictly confidential until we complete our tasks, then I give the written file to my boss and he types it up to go in our online records and so on and so forth, it's quite long and dull really. Oh, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Heather stood up and Mrs Roylett motioned to the door.

"Not at all dear. It's the first door on the right as you walk into the house." Heather smiled gratefully and wandered out of the door towards the bathroom. She opened the door and locked it behind her, flicking open the window lock and pushing the pane of glass up.

"Oh thank God!" John let out a breath and stood up, Heather stood aside so they could climb through the window carefully and quietly before shutting it again and holding a finger to her lips. She flushed the chain and turned on the tap, dampening her hands and drying them slightly before unlocking the door and stepping out into the corridor. She pointed to the door of the drawing room then headed back inside. Mrs Roylett was still sitting behind her desk smiling contentedly up at Heather through her glasses. Then the lights went out.

Heather gasped and instantly felt cold.

"Oh Goodness! Find the switch dear, would you?" Heather moved towards where she thought the door was and moved her hands across the wall, suddenly something pushed her back and she heard a grunting and thrashing noise.

"John, John, the light John" The torch in John's hand flickered and Heather felt cold, rough, skeletal fingers enclose her wrist. In the changing light Mrs Roylett's face was terrifyingly ghostly, pale, sallow and filled with pure rage. Heather yelped and threw her off, hearing a thump and a scream of fear. Finally the torch stayed on and the three looked down on the crumpled body of Scarlett Roylett.

Heather's eyes widened and she instinctively stepped back. Sherlock grabbed her arm and held her still.

"Don't move." He ordered, eyes darting around the floor at an alarming speed.

"There!" John cried.

They looked down at the body of Mrs Roylett and Heather noticed the movement, was it a belt? No, she tensed up as the snake slithered towards the neck of the body. Sherlock backed them all away to the desk and opened the draws, keeping an eye on the reptile. He pulled a white bag from the top draw and a snake hook from behind a cabinet in the corner of the room, handing the bag to John and lifting the snake into it. John dropped the bag into the top draw once more as Heather tried the light switch. The bulbs lit up straight away, illuminating the scene.

"Ingenious." Sherlock commented, looking down at the old woman, "And all for a rotting house."

"You're going to have to back up and explain again, Sherlock." Heather stared at the corpse unhappily, "Because all I know is that I scared an old woman and now she's dead." John leant down and touched his fingers to the old lady's neck.

"Wait! She's alive," he told them, Heather's eyes widened and she pulled out her phone, "just knocked out."

"I'll call an ambulance." Sherlock interrupted.

"No, Lestrade will be arriving in less than two minutes, late as usual, leave her to him."

**Once again I'm really sorry for not updating sooner but I'll be home tomorrow so you'll have one before the end of the week. PROMISE! **


	12. Chapter 12

**As promised, a brand new chapter without a huge long wait. And not only that it's also big on the Sherlock front, in fact he pretty much never shuts up. In other news, I'm feeling kind of ill but I think that's more to do with the large G&T, half a toblerone and bag of allsorts I just consumed than my immune system.**

**bored411:**** Your wish is my command.**

**The Rope Unravelled**

Lestrade watched Mrs Roylett be packed into a police car with an ice pack pressed to her head. The animal control unit had confiscated all five deadly snakes and the boa constrictor living in an upstairs bedroom but it wasn't until Sherlock let them into the Kitchen that they finally understood. "Mr Berry was delusional, clearly poison, clearly nearby, leading us to Mrs Roylett's London town house, the house he was supposedly working on." Sherlock turned to face his audience, "However there was nothing to suggest any work had taken place at that address. So we hit a dead end, but the ticket stub for the Pearl Centre…"

"Which I pointed out." Heather smiled, pleased with herself. Sherlock glared at her and she shut up.

"Points us in the direction of this house. Which, according to Heather's acquaintance and the scaffolding outside, did have work going on." Lestrade nodded.

"So you can infer that Jackson Berry worked in this house."

"Yes."

"But how did you know it was a snake?" Heather asked.

"Your friend also mentioned the Animalarium, several reptiles and a lemur. It's not a hard lead to guess that some of those reptiles were poisonous."

"And Jackson's last words, that stuff about rope, he didn't mean rope did he?" Heather gasped but Sherlock sighed.

"Of course not, anyone would guess that as soon as they'd made even the most basic cursory examination of the body." John frowned.

"There were no rope burns, just poison."

"So clearly 'rope' was referring to something else. He believed the snake to be a piece of rope, then it bit him."

"But what's the point. She has means but what's the motive?"

"Think John, the windows, what did you see through the windows." John shook his head. "Come on John! Remember. The clear surfaces, the neat ornaments." He looked around at his audience and shook his head in awe at their slow uptake. "Observe." He ordered, then threw open the pantry door and pulled up the thin carpet to show a trap door.

"No way!" Heather gasped.

"Inside is clean and outside clearly has no work being done to it. As Heather's friend related, 'nothing goes up and nothing comes down'." John helped Lestrade to pull open the stone and they each dropped down inside where they found a tunnel with many other tunnels leading off from it. Sherlock sniffed the air. "The Roylett money has dried out." Sherlock told the group, "Scarlett Roylett has nothing else to do but hope. Then one day she hears of a legend, a treasure buried beneath the building, possibly related to her by young James Pope, to save the family home from a devastating loss of pride Scarlett chooses to hunt for the treasure. But she is too old to get it herself." John's mouth opened slightly in realisation as he caught on and continued.

"So she hired tradesmen to work for her, but Jackson must have seen something or done something that warranted his death."

"She invites him to the London apartments where she is living while the work goes on, dividing her time to oversee the builders but not be inconvenienced by them." Sherlock told John, Heather joined in.

"And she does the same thing she tried to do to me, sets the snake on him."

"However she doesn't foresee his strength, so he manages to stumble out and carry on down the road until he meets you, Heather, in the café."

"And then he dies." John looked around the cavernous tunnel and ran his hands over the walls. "So what did he find that was worth killing him for?" Sherlock smiled to himself.

"Perhaps everything, perhaps nothing. We may never know. Good luck on the treasure hunt Lestrade."

"You're not leaving!" Greg yelped.

"As you so artfully stated several nights ago Lestrade, you are a Detective Inspector, I'm a consulting detective. I find murderers; I do not hunt for lost treasure.

"If I help can I have an eye patch and a parrot?" Heather asked seriously. The three men turned to look at her and she thought she caught a flash of something in Sherlock's eyes before he brushed past her and back towards the light they had emerged from, melancholy? No.

"Try the newly renovated sections. If you find plaster you're on the right track. Come on John." Sherlock called.

"Oh, so he won't even call my name anymore." John smiled at Heather's huffy tone.

"And after you were almost killed by an old lady and her pet snake." He helped her out of the hole and they traipsed slowly after Sherlock.

"Yeah, wait and see, I'll tell my mother and not one person in my family will believe me."

"That's what families do." John informed her, "They ignore your achievements and ridicule you to breaking point. It keeps you grounded."

"Well then we must be the single most grounded pair in the universe." John followed her gaze to Sherlock's retreating figure, prancing over the grounds and through the gate with no care if they had actually followed him or not. They walked along in silence for a moment but couldn't stop the quiet laughter breaking through.

**I hate to say it but there's only one more chapter to go. So I'm asking two questions. 1. Would you like more? 2. If there is more, is there anything you would like to see in the future? More of one person, less of another, more case and less personal, or the other way around? Want to see a character in a particular situation? TELL ME!**

**(Only thing I am totally discounting is any chance of Heather getting with either John or Sherlock. It's not going to happen. Everything else is open to consideration.)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I would love to say I had no reason not to update but I do. A very messy family Christmas, exams and the diagnosis of my rat with brain damage has kept me very busy but this is the final chapter and I'll be working on a whole new story between my exam on the 17****th**** and the start of lessons on the 28****th****, not sure how far I'll get but I'll give it a go.**

**bored411 Thank you I'm much better. And thank you for your input, there's a little more Heather in this chapter and have no fear, she has a fully formed storyline already for the next story. In fact the only thing I really need to start writing is a crime! (and don't worry, we're all hopeless romantics here.)**

**Back To Normality **

Heather leant back against the door, so very happy to be home. She dropped her bag, flung her coat across the sofa and collapsed onto it, kicking her shoes off and curling up for a nap. With a primal grunt she shuffled around until she could reach behind her back, unclipping her bra and pulling it out through the arm of her top, throwing it into the corner and pulling the blanket down over her chilly arms.

She literally just settle into a comfortable position, and someone knocked at the door. She didn't move, just curling further into herself. They pounded at the wood and she growled angrily, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like a cape and stomping over to the door, pulling it open. "Seriously? Did you not see me enough this…weekend?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I didn't. Hence the stop by."

"Sam. How did you..?"

"Front door? Picked the lock, not exactly fort Knox now love."

"Right."

"I brought wine." He thrust the bottle into her hand and by passed her for the sofa, collapsing back into the comfy pillows then spying the bra half way across the room.

"Had company did you?"

"What? Oh, no!"

"S'alright pet I never thought we were a thing, not gonna get all torn up over some ponce in a tie." She frowned, kicking the door shut and putting the blanket on the sofa arm so she could fetch some glasses from the kitchen. "You got any beer."

"You bought wine."

"The wine is for you, I prefer beer."

"You brought the wine you drink it. Besides I've been out, no beer in the house." He sighed and scooched over when she returned with the bottle –now open- and some glasses. He poured out two generous amounts and she switched the tv on, settling back onto her sofa and pulling the blanket back around her.

"I took it off just now, underwire was pinching." She told him. He smiled and threw his arm over her shoulder.

"I know love, just teasing." She smiled to herself and sipped the wine. Yes, happy to be home.

_SH_

Sherlock sat down in his chair, not bothering to remove his coat and jacket, he crossed his legs and rested his head back to stare up at the bare ceiling. John shrugged his coat off his shoulders, happy to be back home, and made straight for the kettle.

"Have you ever considered bringing someone back to the flat John?" John frowned as he pulled down a mug then another after glancing at Sherlock.

"Like a friend, or…" he trailed off and Sherlock gave him a hard stare. "Um, well, of course. I've brought most of my…friends over." He replied, "Although not many of them ever wanted to come back." His under-the-breath comment seemed to go totally unnoticed by Sherlock although he was certain it had been heard.

"You bring them for coffee, or a menial conversation about weather and television channels but I've never seen one stay the night." John shook his head in confusion.

"Sorry but, why are we discussing my sex life?"

"I've made you uncomfortable." Sherlock noted.

"No, well, yes but. Why the sudden interest in it?"

"I was considering Heather's visitor."

"Yeah well," John poured boiling water into the two mugs and stirred the tea bags around, "She lives on her own down there."

"So it's me. I'm standing in the way of your love life." John stopped at the room divide. Holding the two cups of tea. For a moment he contemplated shaking his head and protesting the remark but instead he set one cup down in front of Sherlock and eased himself into the opposite chair, holding his tea up to his lips.

"I suppose you are, yes."

**The End**

**Thank you so much for your continuing support and as always let me know what your think and what you'd like to see in stories to come.**


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